


unburials: towards the setting sun

by coppertears



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 3daysofkaisoo, Adventure, Demon!AU, Fate, M/M, Prophecies, Slow Burn, creeping, demon hunter!jongin, innkeeper's son!kyungsoo, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppertears/pseuds/coppertears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>his prey is just as easily his predator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
**unburials: towards the setting sun**  
jongin/kyungsoo  
pg-13

Written for [](http://lowislane.livejournal.com/profile)[**lowislane**](http://lowislane.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://3daysofkaisoo.livejournal.com/profile)[**3daysofkaisoo**](http://3daysofkaisoo.livejournal.com/) exchange. [](http://uponinfinity.livejournal.com/profile)[**uponinfinity**](http://uponinfinity.livejournal.com/) was my lamp in the midst of the darkness. 

_the demon hunter_

the skies are red.

underneath the eye of the blood-rimmed sun, jongin surveys the landscape stretching out on all sides. everything is flat, black earth, smudged with the lives that have crossed over it to the unknown. his shoulders remain tense as he sets down his rucksack. even as his hands perform the familiar task of setting up a tent, tying the canvas to the stakes, drawing a square around it and muttering the simple incantation that his mentor had taught him, jongin does not glance down.

his prey is just as easily his predator.

the last thing he does before he retreats into his tent is build a fire out of a bundle of dried tinder and a flint. it won't keep out the _things_ he is hunting, he knows, but it will give him warmth, something to cook with. the enchanted square will do most of the protecting, as long as he does not take a single step out of it.

inside his tent, he unrolls his sleeping bag and lays it down on the ground. from the belt at his waist, he takes out a thin, silver rod, no more than five inches long. then, sitting cross-legged, he places the mark etched into the heel of his right palm on an indentation halfway down the rod. for a second, it is silent, his chest rising and falling with every breath that finds its way to his lungs.

the rod begins to glow, brighter and brighter until the interior of the tent is spilling over with white. jongin narrows his eyes into slits and waits for the light to slink back to the shadows, leaving him with a sharp, cruel blade, attached to a hilt of bone and leather. branded on the flat of the blade is a labyrinth shaped like a hexagon, the lines of it black, matching the one on his palm.

he places it across his lap. jongin has more than a lot of faith in the incantation that will ward off the evil beginning to swirl around the edges at the first blush of sunset, but he has been trained for so long to be prepared for anything. he watches, and waits for the first appearance.

through the canvas of his tent, he sees a shapeless form drip darkness just outside the square. then another, and another, hordes of them finding strength in the dark, shifting and changing. jongin's grip on the hilt of the blade tightens.

the demons, now gathered in full force, begin to wail.

if there were any other person in the tent, a person who was not jongin and did not know what jongin knew, he or she would have sat there feeling despair climb into his or her bones. the wails would have cut into his or her core and flooded it with the tight feeling of hopelessness, a sensation meant to crush his or her ribs. his or her vision would darken; in minutes, the wails would pull him or her out and the demons would swallow him or her whole, leaving behind strips of flesh hanging sack-like over bones.

but jongin is the one inside, and he knows what the full effect of the wails is, knows it so well that they do no more than coax disdain out of him. the blade on his lap winks silver. he reminds himself that come morning, he will be able to drive it through the demons kept at bay by the enchanted square.

outside the tent, the fire continues to burn, a halo of light not yet blotted out by the shadows boiling just inches away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**i. the innkeeper’s son**

winter blankets the village not even a day into the twelfth month, sweeping animals into burrows and deep beneath the roots of trees. kyungsoo eyes the snow, knee-deep now, filling the yard of his family's inn. as the youngest of three sons, it is his duty to keep the path clear for any travelers looking to wait out the rest of the storm somewhere comfortable and safe. kyungsoo likes how the travelers stomp in with tales of other villages, furs often reeking of adventures yet to turn stale, but he despises the hours-long work of shoveling the snow. he sighs and wraps his coat and scarf extra tight around himself, then trudges out with his shovel.

his village is one of the more prosperous ones, fields blooming with grain during harvest season and markets overflowing with fresh produce, jewels, fabrics and all manner of things in the spring. there is a school that teaches the basics -- everything else, a trip to the far-away city can cover, for every year there are officials who come round to offer a handful of youth the chance to have an education. but those who choose not to go and those who aren't chosen at all, are not left wanting. this is, after all, an area known as a trading outpost. every family has its own trade, every shop is willing to impart its craft, and so very few people take the hay-filled caravans to the city.

kyungsoo is an innkeeper's son, but as the last-born, he is normally expected to take up some other trade or craft, or even take the offer of a scholarship in the city. but his brothers had gone ahead of him: junmyeon, the eldest, had accepted the offer five years prior, and now he was home for a short while before taking oath as part of the city's new batch of lawmakers; jongdae, next in line, had long since been attracted to music, and just the year before, he'd begun his apprenticeship with the village's favorite bard, kyuhyun. that had left kyungsoo with the responsibility of continuing the family trade, though he'd entertained the same dreams as his brothers.

he leans on the handle of the shovel and squints down the rest of the tree-lined path, wondering if any travelers will come along today.

last night, a group of cloaked men had mixed dirt with snow, their faces shadowed when they'd come up to kyungsoo's mother and asked for rooms for five nights. kyungsoo, who had been sweeping the hallways that time, had felt a chill in his bones as he watched them. still they gave enough gold for kyungsoo's family to be able to buy spiced cakes for the midwinter dinner, so he'd quelled the fear that was wave-like in his stomach.

kyungsoo resumes shoveling the snow, humming a song under his breath. he keeps himself going with the thought of the hot cider his mother is brewing in the inn's kitchen, the fire blazing in the common room of the inn, and the music sheets that jongdae had given him upon returning from a training session with the bard. the wind blows and plays with the snow a while, but it takes care not to ruin his work. further down the road, he can hear the ring of hammer on metal from the blacksmith's shop, the bargaining for cured meats at the charcutier's house, and the snap of leather from the tanner's place.

"you."

a voice, rusty and deep, breaks through the rhythm of kyungsoo's shoveling. he looks up to see a young man swathed in robes as deep as night, his features free of anything except a certain blankness that disconcerts kyungsoo. the stranger's skin has been licked by sun, which kyungsoo finds curious in the dead of winter, when the sun sleeps in its bedding of clouds before noon has even made its mark on the ground. this man looks weathered, hardened, as though the years have chipped away at his innocence and encased him in metal and earth.

kyungsoo has to remind himself that he is the innkeeper's son, and, therefore, he must be hospitable. "yes?" he says, trying for a bright smile. it feels tight on his lips and only succeeds in pulling out a look of disdain from the man.

"where is the village inn?" the man asks. his irises, kyungsoo notes, are near black. he seems like he's looking at a point to the right of kyungsoo -- it unsettles him, that detached gaze, but he marshals himself.

"right here," kyungsoo says, motioning toward the pair of carved wooden doors with gold inlay that his father had had installed this year. "i'll show you inside."

"no need for that," the man says, now beginning to make his way up the path.

"i'm sorry, i think i have to make myself clear," kyungsoo says, a bit irritated now. it usually takes more than a couple of dismissive replies for him to be on the offensive. "it's not an option. i'll show you inside, because my parents -- who are also the innkeepers -- are doing errands, and as i am their son, i am responsible for accommodating you." he slings the shovel in one smooth motion over his shoulder, trying not to wince when the flat of it bumps against his thigh.

a brief look of shock crosses the man's face, but it becomes impassive once again. "well, then," he says, "show me the wonders of your inn."

kyungsoo seethes at the tone but he reminds himself that he is not in a position to drive away this man. so he stays silent, leading the walk to the inn and opening the door for the visitor. inside, he edges between the redwood-paneled desk and shelves built for receiving guests. the man remains silent all throughout this, not even bothering to shake the snow off his coat or setting down the faded grey rucksack he's been carrying.

kyungsoo takes out a ledger and a pen, and he sets both down on the desk with a flourish. he turns to the pages noting which rooms are free. "alone?"

"does it look like i am anything but?"

kyungsoo bites down on his tongue. "a small or large room?"

"i've slept in tents and even on top of earth before," the man says, lips curled into a bitter smile. "the bare minimum will do."

"how many nights?"

"for as long as it takes to accomplish my task."

"alright," kyungsoo says, biting down even harder on his tongue. "name?"

"jongin."

kyungsoo glances up, surprised at how the answer strikes out so plainly and without any anecdote whatsoever. jongin returns his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

"alright, jongin," kyungsoo says, "since you're staying here indefinitely, payment must be given each morning before the birds sing eight times. five golden pieces a night. we serve food at any time of day, but bear in mind that this isn't at all part of what you're paying already. here's your key." he hands the key to jongin, then slips out of the receptionist's nook to lead the way to his room.

it's unsettling how quiet jongin is behind him; how, when he moves, the only thing that gives him away are the glances kyungsoo shoots back to check if he's still following. they're on the second-floor hallway when jongin taps on his shoulder.

"wait."

"what is it?" kyungsoo asks, trying to repress the urge to jump in surprise.

"do you have any other visitors at the moment?" jongin's stance seems tense, and his eyes keep flicking back-and-forth. it's as if he's seeking something that kyungsoo can't see. the bones of his knuckles push against his skin as he grips the straps of his rucksack tighter.

it unsettles kyungsoo, this guardedness. life in the village holds hardly any mystery or tension. while it isn't like everyone is ready to pour out their stories at campfires, kyungsoo knows of no one like jongin, who hunches in on himself and seems bent on becoming a part of the shadows. and no one, kyungsoo is sure, looks as though they'll be gone any minute.

"of course we do," kyungsoo snorts. "this is an inn. a lot of travelers stop by here."

jongin considers him for a moment. kyungsoo does not drop his gaze. then he says, almost to himself, "such leniency of trust can only come from someone with newborn eyes."

kyungsoo stiffens. "what did you say?"

"there are suspicious characters abroad," jongin says, his voice a decibel louder. "ghosts turn into humans, and humans turn into ghosts."

"i have no idea what you mean," kyungsoo says. "i speak in the tongue of the land, not the tongue of the strange."

he knows jongin's glaring at him, but kyungsoo turns his back on the other guy and keeps walking. his parents won't forgive him once they find out about his behavior to a guest; for now, though, he feels a deep sense of satisfaction.

he stops outside of jongin's door and watches him as he unlocks it. kyungsoo's given him one of the sparser rooms, something more suited to the nomadic aura that clings to jongin. the guest enters the room and surveys it with the door still half-open behind him, taking in the double bed with clean white sheets pushed up against a curtained window, the wooden desk, the closet near the entrance and another door leading to the toilet.

"dinner will be ready once the sun sets," kyungsoo says. "if you need anything, tug on the bell-pull beside your bed. we'll get whatever it is that you need."

jongin doesn't reply. he sets down his rucksack beside the closet and makes for the window, pushing aside the curtains to let a pool of weak winter sunlight spill over the bed.

"if you don't need anything," kyungsoo continues, feeling more and more like this is a lost cause and that he really shouldn't bother, "i'll be downstairs shoveling the snow."

"what is your name?"

kyungsoo's eyes narrow. jongin lets the curtain drop back down, his face turned in kyungsoo's direction.

"why do you want to know?" kyungsoo bites back. he curses jongin in his thoughts -- normally he is patient and courteous with every guest that passes through the entrance of the inn. perhaps it has something to do with how jongin's tone is dismissive, the rise and fall of his words like a slap to the hearer's face.

jongin doesn't reply.

kyungsoo huffs. "my name is kyungsoo," he says. "pleased to make your acquaintance."

for the first time since jongin had strolled his way into kyungsoo's life via the shoveled path to the inn, the corner of his lips turns up into a smile. kyungsoo blinks. "are you?" he asks. "pleased to make my acquaintance, i mean. i don't think so. you look as though if someone gave you a knife, right here, right now, i would find the blade driven through my chest."

"i don't know what you're talking about," kyungsoo says, though his response is half-hearted. it's not like jongin's wrong.

"listen, kyungsoo." jongin crosses the room, his face serious again as he stops in front of kyungsoo. "ghosts turn into humans, and humans turn into ghosts. i know you do not understand what it means, and i am in no position to tell you, but keep those words in mind. danger has been kept away from the land for a long time, but that does not mean it will stay that way forever. let your guests in, yes; however, you must never trust them. and sleep with your doors and windows closed, and a sprig of rosemary tucked beneath your pillow."

"a sprig of rosemary," kyungsoo repeats, trying and failing to hide his incredulity. "okay."

something passes over jongin's face. a flicker, like the brief flap of a bird's wing flying across his eyes, the last sad note of a piano piece. "you do not understand," he says. "i hope you never will."

"alright," kyungsoo says. "i'll get going now, then, to fetch myself some rosemary."

he doesn't even linger for a second longer there, his steps down the hallway going quick _quick_ , away from the room and away from jongin. the guy, kyungsoo thinks, is clearly one of those gypsies romping throughout the land with crystal balls and glass beads, proclaiming the doom of the world.

still, as he settles back into the task of shoveling snow, kyungsoo wonders what those words might mean, and why jongin insists so much that he must hold on to them.

 

 

 

 

dinner at the village inn is always a boisterous one, no matter the season and the number of people present. when the darkness tiptoes across the skies, locals and travelers often find themselves on the zigzagging path leading to the carved doors of the inn, eager to stamp out their exhaustion with a fire blazing at the grate and drinks pouring for a bit of bronze. kyuhyun the bard sometimes drops by to share a newly-composed song. so does the dance troupe that camps out in the fields to the west of the village, drilling movements so fluid and powerful into bodies meant to bend. there are, of course, plenty of poets always ready to sing a sonnet or two. not to be outdone, travelers regale everyone with adventures they've had in other parts of the land, hands cutting air into bits and pieces of unknown landscapes. kyungsoo likes this the most; if there were ever something stopping him from rejecting his inheritance of the family inn, it is this, the gatherings that stack sounds up to the rafters and leave red-faced smiles on sofas.

tonight, however, a chill rushes through the village and keeps everyone tucked inside the heated walls of their houses. a few more travelers come dripping into the inn, but they say nothing more than the cursory _good evening_ to him. it is impossible to talk with blue lips. kyungsoo knows this, but he still can't help feeling disappointed. he always looks forward to the stories.

"ring the bell for me, will you, kyungsoo?" his mother calls from the kitchen.

kyungsoo reaches for the bell-pull hanging by a pillar near the receptionist's desk. it's a thick green braid, running up and down the pipes and connected to almost every room in the inn. he tugs, and in the background, he hears the faint tinkling of all the bells installed in all of the rooms. then he checks the dining room one more time to ensure that there are no wrinkles on the tablecloths and no wilting roses in the vases.

as the travelers begin settling down at the tables and ordering food, kyungsoo's kept busy serving them. it's a quiet affair, many of the patrons too exhausted to expend effort on things that do not involve lifting food and drink to their mouths. at the very least, jongdae's here, having just finished another day of training with the bard. he sweeps right through the aisles and sits down at the piano to play a song, his voice accompanying the notes that drift out of ivory and black.

the cloaked men that had come just the night before are hunched round a table, whispering amongst themselves. unlike the other guests, they haven't ordered a single dish, choosing to whet whatever appetites they have with glasses of ale and cider. kyungsoo's curiosity is pricked by the secrecy that the group wears so comfortably, but he doesn't hover too much around them.

jongin doesn't come down until late into the hour, with most of the guests gone and the tables ready for clearing. he hasn't changed out of his clothes; still, kyungsoo thinks that there's something different about him since the last time he's seen him, something to do with the clench of his jaw and the wariness of his eyes, and the way his right hand rests on some part of his cloak. he glances round the room, as if seeking something. kyungsoo may be wrong, but there seems to be a flicker of relief in jongin's eyes. he makes his way to a table in the corner, settling into a chair with its back against the wall and which, kyungsoo realizes, provides an unobstructed view of the entire room.

"we have chicken, beef, several salads and a minestrone soup," kyungsoo reels off to jongin. jongdae's taking a break at the moment, so only chatter is threaded into the surroundings as his older brother hops from table to table with his bright smile, checking that everything's all right. he's got no intention of taking up the family trade, but jongdae, like junmyeon and like kyungsoo, had been brought up to accommodate guests. this is a habit that will stay with the three of them for the rest of their lives.

"does your salad have rosemary in it?"

kyungsoo squints at jongin, trying to gauge if the latter is joking or not. to be on the safe side, he says, "we have rosemary in the chicken."

"then i'll have that," jongin says, "along with the soup and a glass of cider."

kyungsoo does not comment further, jotting down the order as fast as he can.

"where do you sleep, kyungsoo?"

he almost drops his pen in surprise. jongin's said a lot of strange things from the moment he's stepped inside the inn, but this is perhaps the strangest of all.

"what -- what does it matter -- this is not a... a..." kyungsoo stutters, trying to gather his thoughts. he considers, for a brief moment, bringing up the subject of turning away suspicious characters from the inn at the next family meeting. it's always been the inn's creed to welcome anyone from any land, and it's the reason why their business thrives so much. still, jongin's strangeness is almost enough to convince him to do otherwise.

jongin raises his eyebrow. "i don't think I'm thinking the same thing you're thinking, kyungsoo. i'm asking out of curiosity, if you will. does your family stay in this inn and take rooms out of many, or do you stay far from here?"

"why would an innkeeper leave his inn unattended?" kyungsoo says, bristling at the suggestion. "no, we live right here. the downstairs rooms are ours. also," and he lifts his chin a bit, trying to cover for his earlier sputtering, "you shouldn't phrase things like that, it gives people the wrong impression."

"no, it just reveals the state of their mind and how they think," jongin says. "i presume you have silver bolts on your doors and windows like in the rooms of your guests?"

"of course," kyungsoo says. he's trying to see where jongin's heading with this but he's failing. he looks down at the pad in his hand, hoping to give jongin the hint that if he doesn't have anymore questions, kyungsoo will be pleased to attend to his order -- and to be in a place without an irritating guest spouting nonsensical things.

"and you use them regularly?"

"yes, we do," kyungsoo says. "now if you'll excuse me, i'd like to go fetch the food you've asked for, sir." he leaves no room for jongin to say another word. instead he turns his back on the guest and brings the order to his mother.

he returns to jongdae sitting at jongin's table, the men laughing over something. kyungsoo resists the urge to rub his eyes, sure that this is an apparition of some sort. but it doesn't seem like it, and his brother's always been the most patient one, friendly even to guests like jongin who sink into darkness and spout visions of the improbable.

"oh, hello, kyungsoo," jongdae says, standing up to help kyungsoo put down the dinner things on jongin's table. "i was just talking to jongin here about his experiences in the north. he seems to have seen a lot."

"really?" kyungsoo asks, trying to seem nonchalant, even though he wants to know the details as well. "why are you asking about the north, anyway?"

jongdae shrugs. "oh, kyuhyun takes a trip to the north every year to visit a council of bards, and this year he wants to take me along."  
"ah, interesting," kyungsoo says. he glances at jongin, whose mouth is now full of chicken and soup. the man glances up at kyungsoo with a gaze that is hard to decipher. "okay, since you're here anyway, i'll leave the two of you to it."

jongdae tilts his head. "you don't want to listen to jongin's stories? you love stories, kyungsoo."

"well -- yes, but mother needs me in the kitchen," kyungsoo reasons. "really, it's all right."

"i can help mother in the kitchen," jongdae volunteers. "i've run out of songs to play anyway."

kyungsoo opens his mouth but jongin beats him to it. "it's all right, the both of you can go to the kitchen," he says. "i'm fine with company, but i'm not really used to it while dining, and i'd also like some time to myself. thank you, though," and he smiles with closed lips at jongdae.

"are you sure, sir?" jongdae asks, brows furrowed.

"very," jongin says. "i don't mind."

“well,” jongdae says, “then let’s go help mother, kyungsoo.”

as they leave, kyungsoo swears there’s a hint of a smile in jongin’s eyes. then the guest returns to his chicken, and kyungsoo and jongdae fall right into the rhythm of doing the chores their mother sets them to, the kitchen soon sparkling clean. junmyeon comes down not a few minutes later and is the one to gather up the remaining utensils and clutter in the dining room. for a few hours, as kyungsoo and his family lock the doors and retire to their rooms, heads already aching for the smooth down of pillows, kyungsoo feels content. he forgets about jongin, about rosemary and silver bolts and human-shaped ghosts. in the embrace of blankets, it is easy to live within the crystalline shells of dreams, without thought of the dangers creeping into moonlight-drenched rooms.

 

 

 

 

_red. the room is smeared with paint, with blood -- red, so bright, so alive, pulsating even in the periphery of kyungsoo’s vision. he does not move. he cannot move. above him the ceiling opens up to a storm, swirling in with wind and rain, thunder shaking kyungsoo’s spine. instead of flying off, the blankets cling to him still. they wrap, tighter and tighter, around his limbs, his neck, his torso. kyungsoo tries to peel them off but he has no hands, no fingers, just eyes that watch the red bleed into the air in the midst of the downpour._

_the red begins to crumble. eroded, tainted, the searing shade of it washed away by the skies’ blues. flakes of it sail across his body and assemble into some weird shape he cannot make sense of. the blankets are tighter now, the pillow beneath his head like rock._

_then the red flakes begin to dance, caught up in some kind of vortex in the middle of room. it grows stronger, stronger, until all kyungsoo can see is a spectrum of spilled life. it runs down his face, his lips, and wanders down his tongue. fabric curled around his throat._

_his chest heaves, but no air comes. something black, like oblivion, issues out of his mouth; something, but he does not know what it is. no air, no breath, more black. no breath, no air, more black. more black --_

 

 

 

 

kyungsoo’s eyes fly open, his hands reaching for his neck in a desperate attempt to regain air. his throat continues to constrict and he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know why this is happening and what is going on. he claws at the skin -- there is no fabric, but something’s weighing him down, something heavy and oppressive and suffocating. his mouth opens and he thrashes in his bed, _inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale_.

five figures loom over him, detaching from the darkness that blots the room. kyungsoo can do nothing but stare up at them. it is silent save for his gasping, and he tears his hand away from his neck to reach out, to ask for _help_.

one of the figures moves closer to him and touches his chest. kyungsoo almost throws up as a sudden burning feeling eats away at his stomach, makes its way through his veins, and surrounds his rib cage with an internal fire. the pain continues to build and he thinks in flashes, in bursts, in graphite shadows and memories sketched into existence by the call of death. there is a fire inside him and it is filling his insides with smoke. the figure pushes down on his chest, and then smoke _does_ begin to issue out of his mouth. kyungsoo’s eyesight begins to blur.

he hears the sound of a door being thrown open and the sharp screeches of slashing. his eyesight is still foggy; all he can make out is that now, instead of five, there are only three figures left. then two, then one -- and red, flakes of red beginning to form a cylinder, spinning downward with a howl. the figure closest to him pushes down harder on his chest but silver cuts through it. cruel silver, arcing down the black, paring it down to the copper rust falling back to earth.

“i told you to be careful,” someone hisses, the reproach within the voice choked back by notes that reek of desperation. “i told you -- goddammit.” a hand wraps around the smoke still rising, drifting from kyungsoo’s lips, and the hand glows. it twists and turns the column of smoke, threading silver along it, gathering it into a thin stream. then the hand forces it back into kyungsoo’s mouth. kyungsoo can feel the smoke slipping down his throat, falling in place somewhere deep within him. the hand does not stop -- it passes a rod over his body, and the voice is murmuring an endless river of words that do not make sense to kyungsoo. but whatever it is, it’s helping him, because the fire in his stomach dies out. he tastes rosemary on the back of his tongue.

“who -- what --” kyungsoo coughs, sitting up and trying to catch a glimpse of the person. “what happened --”

“we can’t stay here,” the voice says, and while kyungsoo’s eyesight is cleared up now, he can only make out streaks of motion disturbing the shadows. “they’re coming, they’ll have heard the call, and we need to be out of here immediately.” the door swings shut and the bolts slide in place over the wood.

“who are you?” kyungsoo says, scrambling from the bed. “what just happened?”

“no time.” sprigs of rosemary christen the area in front of the door. “they won’t come after your family, i’ve already cast the incantations to protect them, and in any case it’s you they want. let’s go.”

“go where?” kyungsoo cries, but the person doesn’t answer him. an arm wraps around his waist and swings him over his shoulder with surprising strength, and they head for the nearest window.

a figure materializes on the other side of the glass.

the person holding kyungsoo curses, and kyungsoo tries to swallow down his fear. he watches as the figure wails and feels the fire burning in his stomach once more, boiling --

the glass shatters. a silver blade is sunk deep into the figure’s chest and it bursts into a confetti of red shards. kyungsoo feels the person beneath him clamber out of the window, muttering something in his breath, and he is pulled out of the room with him.

“faster, faster --”

a chorus of wails breaks out behind him, and the person gives an angry shout. he crosses the open window with silver, chanting something, and the hole bursts with yellow light. rosemary assaults kyungsoo’s senses.

“don’t listen to the wailing!”

he watches the figures melt in the yellow and claps his hands over his ears. he thinks of the inn, of his parents, of his brothers; he thinks of the fire, the embers of it still sparking inside him, and the smoke rising in his stomach.

he thinks until he thinks too much, and his head feels like it’s going to burst. the person is calling out his name, but kyungsoo is too far gone to answer.

he succumbs to the black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_flight_

jongin runs.

night is the hardest time to travel because it is when the demons are strongest. everything that the light does not touch is their domain, their kingdom, and he is heading straight into it. it’s made more difficult by the human load on his shoulders and the fact that he knows there are plenty of demons on their trail, but he sets his sights on moving forward. not too far, but far enough by the time the sun rises.

as he runs, he curses himself. he should have done this sooner. when he’d arrived at the inn, he should have whisked kyungsoo away the moment he’d stepped into the second floor hallway and felt the malicious aura of the spirits wrapped in human flesh. but he’d been stupid. he hadn’t sensed that kyungsoo was the one they were looking for until he’d gone down to the dining room and sat at the table they’d used, snatching at the remnants of the conversation they’d had not yet erased from the atmosphere. even _he_ hadn’t sensed that kyungsoo was the one he was supposed to protect. no, not until midnight, when the pull of evil was like a tide of sludge, and through it all jongin had seen the blinding white of a pure soul, the soul that he and the demons had been racing toward. blinding white, about to drown in darkness. blinding white, in kyungsoo’s room.

blinding white, in kyungsoo’s _unlocked_ room, without a single sprig of rosemary.

he tells himself that it isn’t kyungsoo’s fault. the boy had known nothing, after all -- in these parts, the legends and myths have long succumbed to practicality, and even then he and his fellow hunters have done their jobs without alerting everyone else to the presence of demons. they’d long lived in the far reaches of the land, deep in forests and deserts, but the prophecy had somehow made it to their lairs. the prophecy of a pure soul, one that both hunters and demons coveted, one that would finally destroy the balance.

so jongin’s legs ache but he does not stop, does not look back. he turns his face forward, and with all of his might, he races toward the yolk of the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**ii. one pure soul**

when he wakes, kyungsoo’s hand flies to his neck before he even registers the reason why. then he remembers the events of the previous night and he sits up, his body alert, trying to make sense of how many hours have passed and where he is. cloth stares back at him. no, not cloth, but thick white canvas, used in tents similar to the ones he and his brothers had used when they’d camped in the past. he looks down and sees that the lower half of his body’s encased in a sleeping bag. to his right, there is hard, flat earth dusted with snow.

kyungsoo pushes the sleeping bag aside and slips out of the entrance flap.

it takes a while for his eyes to adjust. it takes even longer for him to try to fit the landscape with a place in his memory. nothing comes up. this is an unfamiliar area to him, one that he’s never gone to even when he was younger. he pulls himself up to an upright position and scans the surroundings some more, trying to find anything that looks familiar.

“you’re awake.”

kyungsoo whips around. jongin looks back at him, still swathed in his dark robes. in his hand is a silver rod, and seeing it causes the memories to flood right back to the forefront of kyungsoo’s mind.

“you -- last night --”

“we’ve got no time to waste,” jongin interrupts him. “they won’t come after us while it’s still light out, so we need to get to somewhere safe before the dark comes. the nearest village is a good day’s walk away.”

“you can’t just drag me along without explaining anything to me!” kyungsoo protests, watching as jongin crawls inside the tent to get the sleeping bag and roll it up. “who, what were those things? what were they doing? why are they chasing after us?”

jongin stuffs the sleeping bag inside his rucksack. he kneels and pulls out the stakes holding down the tent, all the while not acknowledging kyungsoo’s questions.

kyungsoo scrambles to the last stake. “jongin.”

jongin snatches the stake from his grip. he doesn’t reply, just places the stakes in a pocket of his rucksack. then he gathers up the rest of the tent, bundles everything up, and places it in an inner compartment of his rucksack.

“let’s go.”

“wait!” kyungsoo cries, but jongin doesn’t even spare him a glance. he starts walking northeast, rucksack over his shoulder, the hems of his cloak billowing in the breeze. it’s too early in the day for snow but it’s still cold, and kyungsoo’s about to wonder why he’s not freezing his limbs off when he looks down and sees that he’s wearing a coat and boots. he looks up and jongin’s further down the path; a little more and he’ll be a speck of black on the white. kyungsoo grits his teeth and runs after him.

“jongin!” he pants when he’s finally in step with him. “jongin, you owe me answers. you owe me answers before you start taking me to places i don’t know a thing about.”

kyungsoo expects more silence and more monotonous walking. he expects jongin to ignore him, to brush him off as no more than a bug he must put up with for a while. he does not, however, expect jongin to stop in his tracks. neither does he expect the other guy to say something, voice flat and distant and bitter, striking out into the winter air like a slap to kyungsoo’s face: “i owe you answers?”

kyungsoo winces and takes a step back, regretting his choice of words.

jongin turns to him, and his eyes seem blacker than ever. “you think i _owe_ you answers, kyungsoo? you think i _owe_ you anything at all?”

“i... i…” kyungsoo tries to speak but his vocal cords fail him. jongin's strange, yes, and he says things kyungsoo doesn't understand. but this is different. jongin looks as though he's long lived underwater, every part of him submerged in a secret world kyungsoo has never been and will never be part of.

the other guy starts in his direction. “if there is anyone between the two of us who owes the other one anything, it is _you_. you owe me _your life_ , kyungsoo, and i nearly lost my own! i could have left you behind to lose your soul, but i ran for miles to escape.”

kyungsoo doesn’t know why he hasn’t noticed it in the past few seconds, but jongin is paler than he remembers. there are bluish-purple rings underneath his eyes, his lips are bloodless, and he’s walking with a bit of a limp. he swallows. he knows guilt when it is right in front of him, with hollow cheeks and a fractured smile, the poison of it a thin veneer over a body housing an exhausted soul.

“i do not intend to let anything i’ve done go to waste,” jongin snaps. “so i suggest, unless you have a pressing need to die within a few hours, you should follow what i say without any protest. do we have an understanding?”

kyungsoo manages a faint “yes.”

“good.” jongin turns. “then let’s get going.”

 

 

 

 

the village to the northeast is a cluster of log cabins decked in pine and mounds of snow. it’s quieter here, not as colorful or as busy as kyungsoo’s village, but all the same the people smile at them and the children rule the streets in their warmest winter clothes. he and jongin find lodging in a modest inn. kyungsoo knows he mustn’t compare; still he finds himself drinking in the furnishings and thinking that a splash of paint here and there won’t hurt. and there it is, that feeling of nostalgia -- only yesterday he’d been at the inn, like he was every day of his life, begrudging the inheritance that stole most of his time. it was the safest place he’d ever known.

it takes a bit of time for kyungsoo to realize that jongin had asked for the two of them to share a room. it isn’t until he is standing in the space between two beds that the thought hits him, and he turns to jongin. “we’re sharing a room?”

jongin raises an eyebrow at him. “i can’t trust you to know enough to protect yourself, so of course we’re sharing a room. also, it’s cheaper.”

kyungsoo has a thing or two to say about that, but he bites down on his tongue and sits on the edge of the bed on the left-hand side of the room. he balls up all of his questions and tucks them deep down his throat, watching jongin as he draws along the boundaries of the room with a silver rod, murmuring something to himself. when he’s gone around the entire space, he takes a step back and waves his right hand. the square begins to glow a dull yellow. he does the same thing to the windows and the doors; then, without explaining why, he sprinkles rosemary beneath kyungsoo’s pillow.

there are plenty of things that kyungsoo wonders about. how are they going to eat? where will they end up? what are they running from? but he can’t quite erase from his thoughts the expression on jongin’s face earlier, nor his tone of voice. so he looks down and fiddles with his fingers.

“i’ll get us some food,” jongin says. “the sun may be out, but it will go home soon as all things in nature do. stay here. you’ll be safe as long as you’re within the square. i’ll be back as soon as i can.”

if there is anything that kyungsoo at all hates, it is waiting. it is being trapped within a glass box, waiting for time to flow past; it is the hours, the seconds squandered in a single place, with him doing nothing except stand sentry over his own inactivity. he’s not, however, in a position to go against this. so he nods his head, and when he blinks, jongin’s gone.

kyungsoo decides that, given the circumstances, the only thing left to do is to sleep. so he settles back down on the bed, closes his eyes, and he dreams of a home that only yesterday, he’d had in the palm of his hand.

by the time he wakes, the skies outside are splattered with blotches of navy. there are no clocks in the room so he has no idea how long jongin’s been gone. it’s a bit worrying, but his encounters with jongin have driven in a point, like an arrow straight through the bull’s-eye: jongin knows what he’s doing. as much as kyungsoo hates being a rag doll with a yarn mouth sewed shut, he has to comply with what jongin’s asking him to do.

at least, until kyungsoo understands everything that’s been going on.

he sits up in his bed. lying on jongin’s bed is the rucksack he’s been carrying around all day, looking even sorrier in the light of the bedside lamp. it seems to have been built for heavy traveling, with thick stitches running along the lengths of the seams, and sturdy leather straps with silver buckles. he wonders what’s inside, aside from the materials for the tent. then, because kyungsoo is a curious creature with none of the finesse, he slips out of bed and decides to take a peek at the contents of the rucksack.

he starts small, opening the front compartments first. one is overflowing with herbs, mostly rosemary, and a few roots. he reminds himself to ask jongin about the significance of the rosemary later, when the other guy’s in a good enough humor. another pocket holds silver trinkets, clinking when kyungsoo attempts to untangle them. their chains hold fast to each other, so he moves on to another pocket, which is stuffed with a bag made fat by money. and on and on, he finds traveling essentials, maps to other villages with red circles over certain areas, a magnifying glass, a compass, and a case of long-handled sharp implements. he replaces this and is about to open the main flap when he hears the faint patter of footsteps outside the door.

kyungsoo hurls himself to the other side of the room -- not because he’s that scared of jongin, but because he’s wary of whatever it is coming toward him from outside the door. when the knob turns, kyungsoo finds himself wishing for a weapon, something to protect himself with even though he doesn’t have the skill to do so. three summers ago, he’d been given the chance to learn swordsmanship, but back then he’d just been named the heir to the family trade as jongdae had made clear to his parents that as soon as he’d deemed his skills enough, he would vie for an apprenticeship with the bard. kyungsoo had not had time to consider other trades, then; as the last son, he was also his parents’ last chance, and so all summer he’d been kept in the inn. he regrets it now, being the son that would not disappoint his parents. helplessness wraps itself around his rib cage and smothers his heart.

the door cracks open, and in falls jongin with a paper bag hanging from his arm. he kicks the door shut then leans his body against it, his face turned up to the ceiling, chest heaving in search of air. kyungsoo hesitates. he wants to go over there and ask jongin if he’s alright, but the other guy’s made clear that he doesn’t want anything of the sort. so the silence slips into the room along with the ever-darkening night, and kyungsoo catches himself stealing glances at the window opposite him.

when a few seconds have passed, jongin speaks with more gravel in his voice than usual. “there is food in the bag.” he tilts his head toward the paper bag that he’s set down. “go… eat. once you’re done, you’ll find that in my rucksack there are some changes of clothes for you.”

kyungsoo stands up and walks toward the bag. jongin’s breathing is calmer now, but he’s pale all over and it looks like his bones will crumble beneath his skin in any minute. “are you… alright?”

“i’m fine,” jongin rasps out. “i’ve already eaten. mind your own business.”

kyungsoo clenches his jaw. if he doesn’t want help, fine. if he’s determined to treat kyungsoo as the one charity case he needs to take care of to appease the spirits of goodwill every year, suit himself. it’s not like kyungsoo had asked to be attacked by whatever those creatures were in his room last night.

his hand’s grabbed ahold of the bag when jongin’s body spasms. no sound escapes from his lips but the pain’s laid thick over his features, and he rests his forehead against his knees. his breathing turns shallow.

well, kyungsoo thinks, he’d been intent on ignoring jongin like the latter wished. still, it isn’t in his nature to watch people suffer, and he _does_ owe jongin his life.

“where’s the wound?” he asks, all business now. the years he’d spent learning the healing lore in order to treat sick guests rush through his veins, and he feels more confident, more secure in the knowledge that there is something he can do.

“there is… no wound.” jongin summons up the energy to raise his head so he can give kyungsoo the darkest glare he can manage.

kyungsoo doesn’t even acknowledge the blatant lie. with the hidden strength used by most healers against stubborn, unyielding patients, he manages to pull jongin’s robes off of him. underneath, a single cut runs diagonally down his abdomen, the freshness of the blood in stark contrast to the whiteness of his shirt. a look of shock registers in jongin’s eyes at the sight; perhaps he hadn’t thought it was that bad. to kyungsoo, it isn’t untreatable, but it’s a little more than he’s bargained for.

“do you have any tools?” he asks, suddenly missing his well-stocked medical kit at home.

“rosemary,” jongin says, every inch of resistance sucked out of him. his shoulders slump and he screws his eyes shut. “rosemary before everything else.”

“alright, rosemary,” kyungsoo says. “anything else? needles, thread, bandages?”

“rucksack. inner pocket. wooden box at the bottom.”

kyungsoo scrambles for the rucksack. after a bit of a tussle with some rolls of fabric, his fingers brush against the lid of the box, and he brings it up. it isn’t that big, but inside it has everything that kyungsoo needs. he takes rosemary out of the pocket where he’d seen it earlier, not quite sure how he’s supposed to apply it.

jongin seems to be thinking the same thing, because his eyes flutter open and he says, “just give me the rosemary.”

kyungsoo hands it to him and sits back on his heels, trying to keep himself from twitching with urgency. with a sigh, jongin crushes the rosemary in his hand and sprinkles the leaves over the wound, muttering words under his breath. at first, it isn’t clear what the routine is for; but then the air around him feels charged and the wound glows white. it becomes so bright that kyungsoo has to shield his eyes; he watches from the spaces in between his fingers as purplish-black smoke hisses and rises out of the cut. with his other hand, jongin reaches for something in his pocket and draws out a silver jar. then, the words on his lips growing louder but still incomprehensible, he draws the smoke around his fist and guides it into the jar, replacing the lid with a final, shouted chant. sweat beads his upper lip. the jar rolls from his grasp and rests at kyungsoo’s feet. jongin heaves another breath and lets his body fall back, eyes closed once more.

kyungsoo steels himself. he can feel his hands shaking from the nerves of seeing the smoke rise from jongin’s wound; just hours ago, the same kind of smoke had gushed out of his lips. still, he has a task to do. he's seen worse-looking cuts and dealt with severed limbs -- now that jongin’s done whatever he’s done, all he has to deal with is a single cut. he sets to work on it, swabbing disinfectant over the wound to wash it clean of any bacteria. taking the needle and thread in hand, he sews the cut closed, applies a layer of ointment over the stitches, and carefully finishes the entire process off by bandaging the wound. jongin’s still pale, but kyungsoo thinks it’s more out of exhaustion than of blood loss. with some difficulty, he hoists jongin up to his bed. the other guy’s not that responsive anymore, already fallen prey to the sleep he's eluded for hours. kyungsoo stares down at him for a moment, wondering if he should wake him up to eat, but he decides to leave him alone. he needs rest more than food.

he opens the paper bag and finds a hunk of bread,a couple of packages of cured meat, fried fish wrapped in leaves and salted nuts. his stomach growls --it’s been some time since his last meal, so kyungsoo eats his share and sets aside the rest for jongin.

once he’s done eating, he rummages through the rucksack and finds the change of clothing that jongin had mentioned. the room doesn’t have its own toilet, but it does have a wash basin and running water, which kyungsoo uses to scrub the grime off his hands and face and most of his body. then he uses the soap and water to wash his clothes, hanging them to dry on the clothes rack.

jongin sleeps through all of these tasks. kyungsoo can’t quite shake off the jittery feeling in his stomach, though -- the state jongin was in when he arrived, and the yellow glow of the square, and the rosemary coaxing the smoke out of jongin’s wound have disquieted him. no matter what jongin thinks, it’ll be easier for him to comply with his wishes if he understood everything. being in the dark only serves to make him more scared than he already is.

he starts pacing the length of the room. what would his parents think when they found his bed without its occupant, drawers and shelves most likely upturned, bedsheets strewn all over the floor, and windows flung open? how would they react? who would help them run the inn?

perhaps they’d even alerted the village’s hunters and strongmen to search for him. but outside the snow is falling again, and kyungsoo doubts anyone is in any state to brave the conditions, even if it is to search for a missing member of the village. it simply is too much risk.

he’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice jongin's body stirring from his slumber. that's why he almost yelps when jongin brushes past him to get to the food kyungsoo had left on the table. jongin doesn’t speak while he eats, and kyungsoo stands there, frozen, unsure of what to say. midway through chewing his fish, jongin seems to remember something; he walks back to his rucksack, ruffles through the things inside, then without warning, he tosses a waterskin to kyungsoo. kyungsoo only just manages to catch it, and jongin returns to the food with his own waterskin in hand.

“jongin?”

jongin doesn’t give him a scathing reply, so kyungsoo takes this a sign of encouragement.

“i know i’m, um, not supposed to bother you, but, um... what happened?”

jongin uncaps his waterskin and takes a sip. it doesn’t look like he’s going to speak anytime soon, so kyungsoo resigns himself to more unanswered questions and makes for the bed.

“i got caught.”

kyungsoo pauses. jongin doesn’t say anything more, so he prods, “got caught by what?”

“by them.” jongin shrugs, and he tears the meat out of its packaging. “by the demons. not that strong, really, the bunch of them, but there were too many. one managed to sneak in his mark on me.”

“demons?” kyungsoo’s lips feel dry. he sits down at the edge of his bed. “what do you mean, demons? are they the ones coming after us?”

“haven’t heard of demons before, have you? well, i’m not surprised, it means i’m doing my job right. you’re not aware they exist because i get rid of them before they get to you. except this time, i failed.”

“what... why are they after _me_?”

jongin shrugs. “they go after anyone with a soul, but they want you especially for a particular reason. as to what that reason is... i’m sorry, i can’t tell you that. all you need to know right now is that they’re pursuing us, they travel fast at night so no matter how much distance we cover during the day they’ll catch up to us, and it’ll be a while before you’ll be able to go home." he seems to catch the look on kyungsoo’s face because he adds, "don’t worry. before we left, i wrote a note to your parents and slipped it under their door.”

“so…” kyungsoo pauses, trying to gauge if jongin’s getting tired of all his questions, but he’s chugging down water and doesn’t quite look as irritated. “where are we going?”

“i don’t know yet,” jongin admits. “right now the plan is to have someplace to stay where we can hunker down during the night. we can’t stay long in one place because they’ll simply stake out our location and attack us once there’s the slightest breach of our defenses. everything i’ve done,” he waves his hand around the room, “will work for now, but not when the stronger ones come calling.”

“the... stronger ones?”

“don’t concern yourself with them,” jongin says. “you just need to run when i tell you to run. for now, go to sleep. i’ll stand guard.”

“but you’ve barely had any rest,” kyungsoo protests. “your wound might open up again.”

“i do not want, nor need, your concern. i’ll be fine.” jongin starts clearing up the rubbish, and by the set of his shoulders, kyungsoo can tell that this conversation is over.

_for now_ , kyungsoo promises himself. he won’t push it now, not when his relationship with jongin is still tenuous. but he won’t be closing this chapter until he gets all of the answers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

the two of them spend daytime traveling throughout the land according to jongin’s strategy, and at this point kyungsoo’s sure he’s been in more places in the past three weeks than he’s ever been in the rest of his life.

now they’ve stopped at a village whose main trade is fishing, but with their lakes and rivers frozen by the winter storms, the people resort to daily gatherings and the occasional party. being the main source of fish for the city, families have long since stocked up on food and winter necessities. some have opened up stalls along the snowed-in paths, offering hot cider to travelers, as well as candied apples and spiced cakes. the inn is better equipped than most of the inns they've gone through, though none, in kyungsoo’s opinion, rivals that of his family’s. he and jongin share a room, as always, and jongin crosses the room with silver and rosemary. a couple of days ago, he’d finally given in to kyungsoo’s queries and explained that silver chained demons and rosemary purified anything that the demons had tainted and left their mark on, thus masking the identity of the person. kyungsoo observes him now, still curious; he hadn’t managed to wrestle out of jongin what incantations he used during this routine.

their conversations have a little more substance these days, steadily growing longer. jongin’s incapable of the kind of humorous banter that kyungsoo’s used to having with his brothers and his friends in the village he’d had to leave behind, but he has lots of interesting things to say. occasionally, kyungsoo can get him to share a story or two about his life. still, while jongin keeps most of himself concealed from kyungsoo’s incessant prying, he’s less uptight. it may have something to do with how, for the most part, they’ve managed to evade their pursuers. they haven’t run into any other demons, strong or weak, and jongin’s wound has healed and he’s gotten some sleep.

earlier, he’d also begun teaching kyungsoo how to use a dagger that they’d bought in one of the villages they’d passed through. everything is new to kyungsoo: the stances, the grip, the watching and waiting and the flick of the wrist, eyes focused, aim true. the closest he’d gotten to the apple that jongin had used for target practice was about three steps to the left of it. still, the dagger at his waist gives him a sense of security that he’s been lacking for days.

tonight, jongin spends his time cleaning the equipment for the tent, as well as sorting his things. kyungsoo takes out his dagger and examines the curve of it, the way the handle fits well in his hand. he imagines himself throwing it the way jongin does, deft, quick movement spearing the target without a single doubt.

“jongin,” he says, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “what village are you from?”

jongin glances up at him, his hair falling over his eyes. “i’m not from any village.”

kyungsoo tilts his head, confused. “but you’re from this land, aren’t you? you speak the language, and you know the places.”

“i am,” jongin says. he replaces the camping equipment in the rucksack. “but i’m not, i repeat, from any village.”

“then where did you come from?”

jongin’s eyes narrow. “you never run out of questions, do you?”

“not enough are being answered,” kyungsoo replies, shrugging.

“for your own good,” jongin mutters to himself. “anyway, my place has no name and it needs none. it is on a hill located on the northern tip of the land, where there are no seasons, only rain or sun. the members of my community are dedicated to keeping the land free of any... disturbances.” he casts a glance at the window, and kyungsoo knows they must be thinking of the same thing: how long until vengeance wails at their door?

“what, exactly, is it that you do?” kyungsoo asks.

a small smile turns up the right corner of jongin’s lips. it’s an expression that kyungsoo’s seeing more on him now, a rare shooting star arcing over the perpetual tension etched into every line and curve of jongin’s face.

“i am called a demon hunter,” he says, and kyungsoo swears he can hear a note of pride in jongin’s voice. “see, everyone back home has a specific task. there are those charged with keeping the community alive and to pass on the teaching from generation to generation. there are those who scout and map out the land, in order for us to know where to go when needed. and there are a few, like me, who train as demon hunters and stalk them until the end of our days -- as well as theirs.”

“i…” kyungsoo bites his lip. he’s not sure how jongin will react to his question, but he figures that since he’s asked about three and jongin’s not shown any hint of throwing a dagger at him, he decides to go for it. “how old are you?”

jongin returns to polishing his rod. “i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?”

“no,” jongin says, shaking his head. “we don’t keep track. when one can wield a dagger and hit ten targets in a row with true aim, when one can wrestle his mentor into drinking the dust, when one can survive a night out on demon-infested land and survive, then one is considered a man. we base adulthood on our skills, now on how many suns have set since the day we came out crying from our mothers’ wombs.”

kyungsoo contemplates this. “that’s... i can’t imagine not celebrating the day of your birth.”

“isn’t every day a day of your birth?” jongin returns, setting down his rod and going over to sit on his bed so he can face kyungsoo. he folds his legs underneath him, his robes falling in waves over his knees. “isn’t every day that you see the sun and your heart leaps, and your soul is intact and you are awake, a day to celebrate? in my line of work, it is common for us to die not long after we’ve even begun hunting demons. so far, i’ve gotten no worse than a couple of scrapes.”

kyungsoo doesn’t think that the wound jongin had borne a few days ago could be as mundane as a scrape, but he doesn’t point this out. instead he says, “don’t you miss your mother and your father?”

jongin is silent for a while. then: “i suppose i should. but you see, the moment i’d begun to walk, i’d started training in my mentor’s care. we are raised to not grow so attached to our parents, and our parents to us. the danger that comes with our line of work is one that can easily sever what bond it is that exists between us. thus it is better for us to grow apart.”

“what…” kyungsoo fiddles with his hands. “what about your mentor?”

“what about him?”

kyungsoo looks up. in those three words, jongin’s coldness comes rushing in full force, and he can see from his eyes that his guard has been raised.

“i just thought... well, you might not be close to your parents, but the fact that your mentor has trained you and kept you in his care must mean that there is a bond between you.”

“yes.” jongin’s voice is soft. “there is. but that, kyungsoo, is one thing we cannot discuss. we have an early day tomorrow. i’ll stand guard while you sleep.”

he stands up, and kyungsoo can tell that nothing more will be said in this room tonight. as he settles into his pillows, though, he gives himself a mental pat on his back. he and jongin may not be close friends yet, and they may never be, but at the very least they’re talking and they don’t erupt into arguments as often.

the last thing he sees before he drifts off is jongin, leaning against the window with half of his face dipped in moonlight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_prophecy_

he’s tried not to show it the entire time that he and kyungsoo had been traveling, but now with the other guy swathed in blankets and off to a land without the weight of reality, jongin lets the worry seep into his system. he’s held it off for as long as he could. there are only so many places that they can run to; eventually, they’ll need to find somewhere more permanent.

with care, he sits on the edge of kyungsoo’s bed and watches him as he continues to dream, oblivious to the dilemma that jongin’s facing. finding a more permanent settlement means longer traveling, traveling that will have to go on through the night. on the first week, it had been clear to jongin how little kyungsoo’s traveled outside of his village. he’s no weakling, but he’s unused to constant walking, and he doesn’t quite have the stamina for longer distances. jongin is loath to hire horses. this is not weather meant for riding, and horses will only make it easier for the demons to identify them. and, to be honest, jongin’s not sure where to bring kyungsoo, either.

he places a hand on kyungsoo’s arm and murmurs the words that the prophet had given him before he’d embarked on this particular hunt. in the darkness, the words travel across kyungsoo’s body and burrows into his bloodstream, and soon his body becomes almost transparent. beneath layers of flesh and skin, his soul shines through, a white so bright that it hurts jongin’s eyes to look. a pure soul deep in slumber, unaware of how much it can change things. _kyungsoo_ , unaware of what he holds inside, and jongin doesn’t even know where to begin whenever kyungsoo presses him to explain why he’s being pursued.

he lifts his hand and undoes the spell, and the light of kyungsoo’s soul returns to its obscurity. as an added measure, he crushes rosemary and sprinkles more of the leaves over kyungsoo’s body, watching them glow green before sinking into his flesh in order to mask the soul. it will not hide the intensity of the glow when the demons cast their own seeing spells, but it will change its color to the more normal human blue, which jongin hopes might waylay them a bit.

jongin returns to his post by the door, his thoughts still thrumming with the memories that kyungsoo’s questions had set aflutter. he thinks back to the day he’d been summoned to yixing’s hut, when he’d long been pronounced as one of the most seasoned and skilled hunters in the community. yixing had not spoken to him for hours, the two of them simply facing each other. but jongin had been patient, had crossed his arms and waited, for prophets are not known to rush. then yixing’s jaw had slackened, his eyes had gone glassy, and strange colors had flickered across the surface of his eyes. and then he’d uttered the words that would propel jongin out of the community, in pursuit of the one thing that the human world could not afford to lose:

> _like sunrise,_  
>  over the world washed by rain,  
>  a soul without taint  
>  a soul without pride  
>  a soul still unbroken;  
>  hidden in flesh,  
>  until the twelfth month  
>  of the half-moon year,  
>  when it will shine bright  
>  and call for its master.  
>  one pure soul  
>  to weigh down the scales --  
>  one pure soul,  
>  coveted by all,  
>  singing for the hand  
>  that will decide the world’s fate.  
>  to whom will this soul yield?  
>  the hunter born on the bloodlust year,  
>  or the demon clad in human skin?  
> 

jongin takes a deep breath. it had been clear, even then, who the hunter would be -- on a year when the war of hunters and demons had baptized the land with the blood of the fallen, jongin was the only child born. he had been given by his parents to the only remaining mentor of demon hunters at that time, not out of choice, but out of necessity. for a time, the community’s women had been barren and the men had been disillusioned by death, all in grieving for the many they had lost. jongin had been the only child running along the streets. it would take a while before the community could learn to live again, and by then he’d begun venturing out into the wilds.

his parents had never approached him since the day they’d given him to his mentor. the war had marked them as well; though their child was the only blessing they’d had on that accursed year, the deaths were still fresh on their thoughts. they knew they would lose him no matter the circumstances. they chose to cut themselves off before they could begin to love him too much, and in time he learned that it was best. his parents had never faltered in supporting him from a distance. sometimes he wondered what they looked like, but he’d never asked his mentor, minseok, and minseok had told him that there were things best kept hidden.

“in time, jongin,” he remembers minseok saying, “what has been given up will return, in some way, to those who have lost far too much.”

jongin wishes yixing had explained to him what the prophecy had meant, how the soul would yield itself -- kyungsoo’s with him, but if jongin doesn’t figure things out soon enough, the dark spirits lying in wait would pounce.

then a thought occurs to him, and jongin thinks the only fool in the entire scheme of things is himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**iii. hidden land**

“so where exactly is this hidden land again?” kyungsoo asks, huffing as he tries to keep up with jongin’s lengthy strides through the forest path. up in the sky, the sun is cold despite the clouds that it surrounds itself with. there are no birds twittering amongst the branches of the trees at this time, and the creatures of spring have long burrowed deep into the belly of the land to see the winter through to the end.

this is perhaps the hundredth time he’d asked this question throughout the week they’d started off in search of the _hidden land_ that jongin had told him about. he has yet to get an answer, but he and jongin have gone past the point of jongin expecting kyungsoo to follow along meekly and kyungsoo expecting jongin to abandon him at some obscure swamp. jongin, kyungsoo’s learned, is used to silence. he is used to the rustling of trees, the slither of snakes, and the whispers of rain; he isn’t used to someone who’s lived most of his life prodding wanderers for tales of their adventures.

sometimes, kyungsoo suspects it isn’t so much that jongin wants to keep him ignorant -- the other guy simply doesn’t know how to explain things, how to parse the things he knows into words simple enough for kyungsoo to understand. so he keeps trying, anyway. with any luck, jongin might give in.

“has anyone ever told you how persistent you are?” jongin returns, but he doesn’t sound upset. in fact, he sounds a bit bemused as he brushes aside a hanging branch and holds it up long enough for kyungsoo to duck past.

“it’s one of my best traits,” kyungsoo says. “so will you tell me where the hidden land is now?”

“there’s a reason why it’s called the hidden land, kyungsoo,” jongin says. “i made a promise long ago to not tell anyone where it is, and as tempting as it is to answer your question so we can journey in peace, i intend to keep that promise.”

“but you’re bringing me there, so aren’t you breaking that promise anyway?” kyungsoo points out.

“no, not really,” jongin says. “all i ever said was that i wouldn’t _tell_ anyone where it is exactly. and by bringing you there, i’m not really _telling_ you where it is, am i?"

kyungsoo squints up at him. “well, cheeky, aren’t you?” he sighs and finally lets it go. “so will you at least tell me why exactly i’m being chased?”

“no, not that, either,” jongin says. “you may not be aware of it, but the wind listens, kyungsoo, and anyone with sharp enough ears can hear what we’re saying. i’m trying to keep as low a profile as possible. i don’t want to tell you out here in the open, because you never know who it is that reads the wind. ah -- we're here.”

they step out of the forest trail and into a clearing, still frozen and hard and covered with snow. there is an iced-up pond in the middle, and surrounding the clearing are evergreen trees reaching up to the heavens.

they’ve been walking for the better part of the day. kyungsoo doesn’t know how far they have to go; all in all, they’ve covered about ten villages in the week they’ve been traveling, but settlements are rarer the farther they go. still, there's an eagerness to jongin’s movements that sets kyungsoo off to the fact that they may be getting closer to their goal.

they settle down in the clearing for a bit to take a spot of rest and eat, though kyungsoo has the feeling it’s more for his benefit than jongin’s. his companion’s clearly used to traversing all kinds of terrain by himself, and kyungsoo suspects that if it weren’t for him, jongin would have reached his destination a long time ago.

a month is far too short to know a person, kyungsoo thinks, but when two people have traveled a long way together, it’s more than enough. jongin is scrupulous with his gold and bronze pieces except for when he’s offered spiced cakes -- when that happens, the other guy fidgets and dithers for a few minutes until kyungsoo takes it upon himself to wrestle the money from him and buy him the cakes.

the demon hunter is built for battle and long-distance trekking, but at times kyungsoo catches him smiling at a child or at the sunrise. jongin hates sunsets and what it means for them, and though on the surface he seems calm and confident, kyungsoo’s learned to pick up on his tells: the scrunching of his nose whenever he hears footsteps pattering down the hallway, the whitening of his knuckles around his rod at the slightest snap of a tree branch, the wariness in his eyes and the way his body's always half-turned to kyungsoo, ready to push him to safety once danger makes itself known.

they’ve had some close calls, when they take longer traveling to a village than they thought they would, and jongin’s always frantic when he pushes kyungsoo into a room in whatever inn is available, silver and rosemary raining down on the floor along with his incantations.

sometimes, though, kyungsoo can see the boy beneath the man. he can see the recklessness lurking deep in jongin’s irises, the way his humor breaks through the facade he keeps up; he can see the youth, buried yet rising to the forefront whenever jongin’s teaching him how to wield a dagger, the patience in his tone as he teaches kyungsoo again and again how to hit the target, and the boyish smile that spreads as soft as butter on his face when kyungsoo finally does it. he wonders if maybe jongin is actually far younger than he appears.

“...we’ll be there an hour before sunset,” jongin says, and kyungsoo’s brought back down to earth. jongin’s looking at him, as if expecting him to say something, but kyungsoo’s been too caught up in his thoughts to have listened to him. he nods, because some kind of response seems to be in order.

jongin passes him the salted meat and fish, and for a few minutes, they don’t talk. the wind’s not so cold today, and each sunset that dies in the west brings summer ever closer. kyungsoo thinks of his family and of the inn, but he tells himself that such things are best swept into the corners of his mind until this entire thing is over.

as he and jongin wrap up their eating things, kyungsoo looks to his left and is struck by an idea.

seconds later, just as jongin straightens up from packing everything back into the rucksack, a snowball hits him square on the chest. he stares at the clump falling to pieces, and he looks up just in time for the second one to hit his leg.

“what --” jongin says, baffled, ducking just in time to escape kyungsoo’s third throw. kyungsoo’s sure his cheeks are red with the cold and the laughter that’s sailing with the wind, but he doesn’t care. he balls up another clump of snow and aims at jongin.

jongin manages to dodge this one as well, and in the same motion he’s scooping up a snowball of his own. kyungsoo tries to dance out of the way while making more ammunition, but the snowball finds its mark on his thigh. he fires at jongin, and jongin fires back, their breaths fogging so much over their faces that it takes kyungsoo a while to realize that jongin’s laughing. when he does, he’s so surprised that he can only stare at jongin’s delighted expression, his head thrown back with amusement as he aims another snowball at kyungsoo.

“you’re laughing,” kyungsoo says, somewhat stupidly. as soon as the syllables trip out of his tongue he regrets it, knowing they will wipe away any trace of the laughter on jongin’s lips.

only it doesn’t. jongin’s still laughing, though much more subdued now, and he wipes at the tears and the bits of snow clinging to his face with the back of his hand. “you were laughing, too,” he says. kyungsoo thinks that, _no, jongin’s missed the point_ , because the jongin that kyungsoo’s been traveling with has smiled, and frowned, and worried, and gotten angry -- but he’s never laughed, not like this. not with his eyes twinkling, the boy beneath the man coming through stronger than ever, his smile so child-like and innocent that kyungsoo wishes they weren’t right here, right now, running away from the demons that had been the ones to open jongin’s eyes to a harsher side of life.

“well,” jongin says, still oblivious to kyungsoo's thoughts, “as much as i’d like to keep up the snowball fight, kyungsoo, we have to resume our journey.” he shoulders his rucksack and turns to kyungsoo with the laughter all but wiped out from his features. “kyungsoo?”

“i --” kyungsoo stammers. “i made you laugh.”

jongin raises his eyebrows at him. “are you going to stand there all day fixating on that, then?”

“no -- i mean, yes -- i mean --” kyungsoo inhales. the winter air is sharp, but the feeling in his stomach is even sharper, and his heart’s beating so fast. “you _laughed_.”

jongin sighs. “if i laugh again, will you start walking?”

“no, no,” kyungsoo says, forcing his limbs to cooperate. he doesn’t know why he hates the thought of jongin laughing at something so meaningless, but he does. “let's go.”

it is, kyungsoo thinks, the longest walk he’s ever taken in his entire life.

 

 

 

 

 

“we’ll be on the last leg of our journey tomorrow,” jongin announces on their eleventh night of traveling to the hidden land. they’ve already installed themselves in a cabin left unoccupied by one of the families in the village they’ve stopped at, their sleeping bags unrolled and all protective charms in place. jongin’s absentmindedly twirling the rod in his hand. “this is the last village we’ll ever see, so prepare yourself because we won’t be able to make any stopovers tomorrow. our destination will take a little over a good day’s hike from here, so we might get caught in sunset without any protective charms, but if we keep moving we might be able to make it before they come after us.”

“you sound calm,” kyungsoo comments. he reaches for the dagger at his waist, reassuring himself that he’ll at least have it on him, even if he isn’t exactly as good as jongin when it comes to wielding it.

“do i?” jongin tilts his head. “no, i don’t think so. but then i’ve been trained to not show fear no matter what happens. it is one of the reasons why i am considered one of the best hunters, kyungsoo.”

kyungsoo tries to lighten the mood somewhat, saying, “are you sure? maybe they’re just coddling you.”

“not a chance.” jongin shakes his head. “ours is a culture built on individual merit. we don’t declare who is the best so easily. neither do we accord respect and honor to just about anyone.”

“do you miss that?” kyungsoo asks. “your community, i mean.”

“perhaps.” jongin shrugs. “when i am on the hunt, i do not think of home, and those who are home do not think of those on the hunt. we are raised to strike out our own paths in the world, kyungsoo. of course, it’s not like we are indifferent to each other. but it’s the very nature of our jobs that makes it necessary for us to let go of anything that may hold us back.” he smiles to himself. “the hunt never ends. it goes on, even when we die. we’ve learned the hard way to bury those who leave instead of keeping our doors open for them.”

“but…” kyungsoo bites his lip. he can’t imagine how jongin and the rest of his community can do such a thing. in all the time that’s passed since the attack on him at the inn, he’s always thought of his family. he’s worried about them, and they’ve worried about him as well, that he’s certain of. at night, he dreams of beer-doused round tables, of people gathered around a fire, voices set on crescendo with the melodies of a hundred different lives. sometimes, when he’s leaning against a tree during a break in their treks, he swears the surroundings look so similar to home. but then he blinks and the illusion’s gone, and he’s looking over his back in fear of the phantoms that ride on the bruising of the clouds.

“you didn't grow up that way,” jongin says, “so you may not see. but that’s the truth, kyungsoo. this is _our_ truth.”

kyungsoo doesn’t say anything for some time, lost in his thoughts. then he walks toward jongin and sits down beside him. jongin glances at him, waiting for the question that he can see quivering on kyungsoo's lips. when it comes, it’s quiet, soft, tiptoeing into the room like a flurry of snow through an open window.

“why?”

“it’s a long story. if i tell it, you won’t be able to go to sleep.”

“i’ll stay awake as long as i can.”

kyungsoo can feel jongin’s gaze on him. he returns it, trying to let him see that he wants to know, he wants to understand it all: the once upon a time, the joy, the pain, and somewhere in between, that nameless something that clings to jongin like a thin veil of secrecy, something that must be kept alive and remembered, but never spoken of. and as he gazes back at him, he sees the expression change in jongin's eyes -- he sees the exhaustion, the suppressed fear, and last of all, drowned for so long by all of the things that jongin’s gone through, the far-reaching sadness.

the sharp feeling is back in kyungsoo’s stomach, but he doesn’t fling it aside. he lets it seethe, lets it flutter like bird’s wings straining to break out of a cage, because there’s nothing he can do about it now except let himself break and hold the shards together as best he can. tomorrow, they’ll be at the hidden land, and their journey together will come to an end. like the people in jongin’s community, he will have to learn to bury those who will leave.

so he sits back and listens to jongin as he tells him about his community’s _once upon a time_. and he holds on to this memory, allows it to find its place in the architecture of his thoughts, because kyungsoo knows what this feeling is and he’s suspected its existence for some time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_houses of rock_

kyungsoo falls asleep not long after jongin’s finished tell him about the war between hunters and demons. the curtains are drawn shut over the windows, and the only sounds breaking the silence are the thumps of snow hitting the roof. jongin lets kyungsoo’s head rest on his shoulder for a while, before he sighs and carries the other guy back to his sleeping bag.

he zips him in all the way, watching as kyungsoo rolls over to his side with a muffled mewl, his dark hair shading in part of his face. jongin doesn’t know why he can’t seem to move away, his body still crouched over the sleeping bag and his hand hovering over kyungsoo’s head. maybe it has something to do with how kyungsoo’s one of those handful of people who’s been determined enough to plumb into his house of rock, tap-tap-tapping away even though jongin's tried to drive him away.

he’s lived in a community, after all, that finds peace in letting go of those who have sworn to crush the dwellers of the dark. he’s grown up in a place where deserted houses are left alone, relics piling up along the streets because no one can bear to smother hope, but everyone knows those who once lived there won’t ever come. it is the reason why his parents have watched him from afar; why minseok, on the day after jongin was named a demon hunter, had held his hand for too many seconds and too few minutes, the look in his eyes telling jongin that this is his goodbye.

he’d returned, of course, but by then things had changed. after a while, minseok had told him to not come visit. a younger jongin would have been hurt; but the jongin he’d been by that time, who had seen the wilds for what they were and whose soul had been molded anew by horrors, had understood. minseok had had to live with heartache every single day, watching him go, watching him come back -- and every single time, he'd become a different person, no longer the boy that minseok had taught how to spar and wrestle and hide.

“let me live the rest of my life with the memory of you nocking your first arrow, jongin,” minseok had said, his hands shaking. “let me live with the part of you that had not yet seen how much the hunt steals away the essence of a person until very little is left. i’m sorry. i thought i could bear it, but now i know that i cannot.”

and so, every time jongin had come back after that, he no longer stopped by minseok’s house. when he needed advice, he sent an unsigned letter. minseok always wrote back without acknowledging the identity of the sender.

he and kyungsoo will reach the hidden land soon, where a friend he’d made a long time ago would know what he needed to do in order to preserve the purity of kyungsoo's soul -- how to ensure that the demons would never be able to taint it or consume it, once jongin is gone. because that is, he knows, what will have to happen. the moment he’s achieved his task and assured kyungsoo’s safety for the rest of his life, along with that of the world and the preservation of the balance between demons and hunters, jongin will leave. this time, he won’t be coming back to the community. this time, he will walk night and day to the cliffs of the south, where the land will no more feel the footsteps of the hunter born on the bloodlust year.

and kyungsoo, like minseok, will finally understand that houses of rock are never meant to be explored, because they will pull in the shadows to blot themselves out and crumble to dust.

jongin just wishes, as he brushes aside a strand of kyungsoo’s hair that had fallen over his eyes, that he doesn’t have to deal with this regret. that it will be just as easy for him to forget, to cut away the threads that have sewn part of kyungsoo’s life into his, to close the door to this chapter of his story behind him and bury the thought of everything he has chosen to walk away from.

no, it will not be easy at all. jongin knows, because right now there is an unnamed thing that fills the whole of his ribcage that’s telling him so. a wretched, pitiful thing, that knows it should have never sought shelter in someone who was never meant to stay.

the very same thing that’s urging him right now to slip his arms around kyungsoo and hold him until the skies grow still with the end of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**iv. last stand**

they set out the instant that light cascades down to wake the sleeping land. there is a subdued air between them today, one that’s made heavier by the fact that they have to cover a lot of ground. even then, nighttime will be nipping at their heels, ready to swoop in with the creatures that thrive in it. true, jongin hasn’t had to fend off any demons since the time he’d been injured at the first village they’d run to, but kyungsoo can’t help feeling that they’re walking straight into some kind of trap. he knows that jongin’s contemplating the same thing, and the urgency’s thrumming beneath his skin as they begin their trek throughout the uninhabited wastelands of the northernmost tip of the land.

kyungsoo doesn’t even feel the need to start chattering away the nerves. what jongin had told him several days ago, about the wind listening to their conversations, echoes in his thoughts. during the bulk of their journey, he hasn’t had much time to feel fear, because it had seemed like the demons had left him for good. now, though, the paranoia is back in full force. their one hope, jongin had said, was the hidden land. they had to make it there by sunset today or else they would never reach it at all. flashes of black smoke and the sensation of being choked surges through him, the images so vivid that it felt as though they’d happened just seconds ago. kyungsoo shudders. he throws a quick glance over his shoulder, wary of how there isn’t anything to cover up their tracks at all in this never-ending field of white. he catches jongin doing the same thing, and without saying a word to each other, they quicken their steps.

their shadows lengthen over the course of the day, and though kyungsoo tries to soldier on, his steps slow. jongin’s radiating impatience as it is. he curses his lack of stamina, come to haunt him now that he needs it most.

“stop.”

kyungsoo looks up, cheeks flushed with guilt. of course he won’t be able to hide his exhaustion from jongin, whose senses are primed to pick up on the littlest changes in the atmosphere. the hunter’s eyes betray no emotion, but that fact alone makes kyungsoo’s stomach churn. it’s been a while since jongin’s acted this distant.

“we’ll take a break,” jongin says. he passes kyungsoo a waterskin, which kyungsoo takes with gratitude. “i’m sorry, i was too optimistic that we could handle trekking this far and this long without stopping. it’s not possible at this rate.”

“i’m sorry,” kyungsoo says, hating how he’s the one slowing down their progress.

jongin shakes his head. “no, it’s not your fault. i should have planned this better. in any case, let’s eat.” he throws kyungsoo his share of bread and salted fish, and sits down on the snowed-in land to make quick work of his own share.

they finish eating soon enough, but jongin shows no signs of resuming the trek. instead he takes out a bundle from his bag, unrolls it, and takes out a sheathed dagger. “take out your dagger.”

“wh-what?” kyungsoo stammers.

“your dagger. take it out,” jongin says. “no matter what we do and how fast we go, they’re going to catch up to us. so i might as well teach you how to defend yourself against them.”

“how…” kyungsoo struggles to find the words. “how bad do you think it will be?”

something flickers across jongin’s eyes, too quick for kyungsoo to try to decipher. “i don’t much like thinking about it,” he admits. “but i’ve been suspicious of the fact that we haven’t been attacked at all since that last time. they may have already known we’d head here. but that isn’t something you should concern yourself with. the first thing you must always do…” jongin continues, limbs taking on the stance that he’s taught kyungsoo again and again, “is be on your guard.”

without warning he leaps forward, and kyungsoo reacts just in time to deflect his blade with his still-sheathed dagger. jongin yells, “remember what i’ve taught you!” before coming back round again to drive his blade into kyungsoo’s chest.

kyungsoo doesn’t think. he draws the dagger from its sheath and lets the past few days of training take control, dancing away from jongin’s reach and deadly aim. once or twice he comes close enough to leveling the blade with jongin's neck, but the hunter is quick, deft, parrying his attempts with his own. it’s only by sheer determination that kyungsoo manages to deflect most of his attacks.

“be mindful of all sides!” jongin continues to yell out. “look for an opening, but don’t drop your defenses! let your instincts take over!”

 _stop thinking!_ kyungsoo thinks to himself, gritting his teeth as jongin makes another attempt, the point of his blade coming so close to tearing the fabric of kyungsoo’s shirt. there is black smoke rising in the back of his mind. _you’ll die if you second-guess!_

in that same second, jongin lunges toward kyungsoo’s unguarded left flank, feet nimble as he drives home the tip of his blade to mere inches away from kyungsoo’s neck.

kyungsoo’s dagger shivers near jongin’s adam’s apple.

they stay locked in that position, staring each other down, knuckles whitening around the handles of their daggers. the wind slips through the spaces in between them and goes on its way. kyungsoo tries to calm his breathing, tries not to crumble in the spotlight of jongin’s gaze. the bird with the broken wings continues to beat its way out of his chest. he’s sure he sees something ripple in jongin’s eyes, something that hides as quickly as it peeks out.

“well done.” jongin lowers his dagger. kyungsoo lets out a breath and lowers his. “you’re as prepared as you’ll ever be. now let’s go.”

he and jongin replace their daggers in their sheaths, and then, with an unspoken agreement to shroud themselves in silence, they resume their journey.

so onward they go. onward, they strike a path through the snow, making no attempt to cover up the footsteps they leave behind. when the demons come, they will come regardless of whether or not there is a visible trail. kyungsoo tries to shake off the tension, but it just sinks into his spine and curls up at the bottom of his stomach. _faster_ , he thinks to himself, _faster_ , all the while praying that the sun will meander along the skies a little while longer.

the clouds are beginning to blush just as kyungsoo and jongin scramble up a mound of snow. ahead of them, about a hundred and fifty steps away, is the edge of a cliff.

“run!” jongin yells, and kyungsoo propels himself forward, not quite knowing what it is jongin expects to find at the edge of the cliff -- but he hears the note of fear in jongin’s voice, a sliver of dissonance that tells him they’re running out of time. he pushes his legs, his body -- his lungs scream for air -- the edge of the cliff so close --

the sun descends, and in the same instant, the entire world grows dark. kyungsoo hears jongin shout, feels him wrap his body around his, frantic; he reaches for the dagger that jongin’s given him, ears pricked for the enemy. through the oppression of the shadows, jongin’s palm glows, and kyungsoo watches with wide eyes as the rod that jongin’s carrying morphs into a silver sword.

the black congeals, and stepping out of oblivion is a single shadowy form outlined in red.

“we will take what is ours,” it says, the words coming out in a thousand wails. kyungsoo feels like his head will burst. “step aside, demon hunter.”

“kyungsoo isn’t yours,” jongin growls back. “i will not let you near him.”

the form bursts into laughter, only it sounds like a room filled with tortured souls. kyungsoo’s teeth begin to chatter. he tries to fight it, but that night comes flooding back, wave after wave of fury and confusion and terror; image after image of black smoke, his throat constricting, the taste of death on his tongue.

“then be prepared to say your farewells,” the chorus of the damned hisses from the shadow’s mouth.

“jongin --”

“the hidden land is straight ahead, kyungsoo,” jongin says to him, “run forward and don’t look back, do not worry about me.”

“but --”

kyungsoo never hears another word from jongin. the next thing he knows he’s shoved forward, and the demon lets out an ear-splitting screech. kyungsoo’s head pounds but he scrambles to his feet, blinded by oblivion, trying his hardest to not look back. he hears jongin shout, and from the periphery of his vision he sees a flash of silver, which is just as quickly blotted out by darkness. a clang, a growl, another screech followed by that haunted laughter. kyungsoo keeps running, pushing away every thought of a boy, of a smile, of laughter so recklessly given. his legs burn, and in his chest, the bird with the broken wings wants to break free. he can taste the salt of his tears, the pain exploding throughout his veins -- but the last thing he wants is to betray jongin, to destroy everything that the hunter has done in order to get him to safety.

he hears jongin’s last cry just as he plunges over the cliff’s edge, and at that moment, kyungsoo knows they have lost. his own cry rips free of his lips as the bird bursts out of his chest, setting him aflame. the fire spreads throughout his body, bent on turning him to ashes, but kyungsoo is numb. in his mind’s eye, he sees jongin on the day they first met; jongin, telling him to lock his doors and windows; jongin, saving him from that first attack; jongin, stumbling into the room with the cut on his stomach.

the images keep flashing, quicker and quicker, in color, in black-and-white, through haze and flames and jongin’s cry burrowing into kyungsoo's ears: jongin smiling, jongin frowning, jongin teaching him how to throw a dagger, jongin telling him his story, jongin laughing like the child that he’s never been allowed to be. the unnamed feeling overpowers kyungsoo and he surrenders himself to it, like it is heaven, like it is savior -- he surrenders, because they have lost, and there is no hidden land to run to anymore.

kyungsoo closes his eyes and lets the fire consume him whole. his last thought is of jongin, and the warmth of his shoulder as kyungsoo succumbs to the eternal sleep.

 

 

 

 

_autumn. the path to the inn littered with leaves of red, gold, brown hues. chatter in the dining room. apples in the kitchen. kyungsoo, about to be eight winters old, sitting on the high chair behind the receptionist's desk as a man swathed in red linen robes walks up to him. his hair is a mess of flame-colored curls._

_his mother is the one to accommodate the man, but as she goes off to prepare a room, the man bends down to meet kyungsoo's eyes. the tips of his ears peek out through his curls._

_“you’re a very special young man,” he says, his lips lifted up in a bright smile. “such a beautiful, pure soul.”_

_kyungsoo tilts his head in wonder._

_“do you want to know a secret, little guy?”_

_kyungsoo glances around for his mother, then he turns back to the smiling man and he nods._

_the man reaches out and places his palm on kyungsoo’s chest. “only those who can love so purely and wholly are blessed with the purest souls. you will not understand this now, but in time, you will. until that day comes when you entrust that love to someone, i'll leave you a guardian to keep you and your blessing safe.” he takes in kyungsoo's confused expression and laughs. “don’t worry, your phoenix will only fly free when you find the one for whom you will leap the edge of the earth for."_

_kyungsoo doesn’t understand, but the guy’s laughter is like the bells that ring throughout the inn, so his laughter spills out as well. he doesn’t see him anymore after that, and soon he forgets everything he’s been told._

_but inside his chest, a phoenix comes alive and stands guard over his soul, awaiting the day of its flight over the open seas._

 

 

 

 

what awakens kyungsoo is the smell of brine, so foreign that his eyes slide open and he sits up in bed. he glances around the room with its windows thrown open, and he glances down at the white shirt and pants he’s wearing. for a long second, his mind is a clean slate, taking in the peacefulness of his surroundings. then everything falls into place, and the pain in kyungsoo’s chest takes his breath away.

the tears fall before kyungsoo can hold them back. jongin’s cry still resonates in his memory, like knives that slice through his thoughts. he remembers the darkness, jongin shoving him to safety, the flash of silver and then the demon’s laughter. he remembers the edge of the cliff, and him jumping over it, and the bird escaping out his chest and setting him on fire.

_”if i laugh again, will you start walking?”_

the tears flow thicker now, faster, and kyungsoo leans his forehead against his knees. he tries to block out the memories but they keep coming; a river, unbounded by rock, rushing through his mind and increasing the pain hundredfold.

he scrambles out of bed, determined to face the demons. because he’s sure that’s where he is now, in the demon’s lair: he must have not made it in time, and jongin’s sacrifice had been for nothing. kyungsoo no longer cares why jongin’s protected him all this time. they’ve lost. he’d failed to do the last thing jongin had asked of him. no other thing matters.

he rushes out of the door, vision blurred by tears, ready to yell out to the demons to take his life, _take his soul_ \--

\-- and promptly bumps into a solid chest. “you’re awake!”

kyungsoo looks up, anger boiling in his veins, ready to give himself up. but the words die halfway up his throat, because instead of a shadowy figure, a young man in red robes is looking down at him, the surprise on his face giving way to a sunshine smile. “who -- who are you?” he sputters out.

the man laughs. “of course you don’t remember me,” he says, his teeth showing. “you were too young when our paths first crossed. but i do remember you, kyungsoo, and we have met once before at your family’s inn. in these parts i am known as the mystic of the hidden land, but you can call me chanyeol.”

“chanyeol,” kyungsoo repeats. then he registers what the taller man had said. “did you say hidden land?”

“yes,” chanyeol says, laughing, “welcome to the hidden land. thought you wouldn’t make it, but you were right on schedule.”

“i’m in the hidden land?” kyungsoo says. “so i -- i didn’t fail jongin --” he stops, feeling the hot burn of tears again.

“oh,” chanyeol says, as if a thought’s just occurred to him. “of course you wouldn’t know. come along, kyungsoo, i have something to show you.”

kyungsoo follows him, the numbness back. so he’d accomplished it. he was safe. jongin was not. kyungsoo’s not quite sure what to make of this, how to feel. he keeps his eyes glued on the hems of chanyeol’s robes, so he doesn’t realize they’ve entered a room until chanyeol says in a softer tone of voice, “he woke up just a while ago, too. i trust you’ll be gentle. he was badly injured in the battle with that pesky seven-horned demon, i had quite a bit of a task dispatching him when i arrived.”

kyungsoo blinks. “what?”

chanyeol pushes him forward. “go on. he’ll be glad to see you. i’ll leave the two of you alone.” he backs out of the room and closes the door behind him.

“kyungsoo?”

time, at that instant, flows past but does not take kyungsoo with it. he stands in his spot, frozen, unable to believe the apparition in front of him. sitting up in bed is jongin -- maybe a little paler, a little more tired, but jongin with his mouth open and relief so clear in his eyes.

kyungsoo doesn’t think. he flies across the room and is about to engulf jongin in his embrace, when he remembers what chanyeol had said and the fact that he’d sworn to hide every shred of emotion he’d felt for jongin on the day that they’d set out for the last trek to the hidden land. jongin’s features seem expectant, but then his face falls and he turns his face away. kyungsoo sits with a slight bump on the edge of the bed.

“so, um, you’re safe,” kyungsoo mutters, fiddling with the sheets. he sees the bandages wrapped around jongin’s arms, and he resists every urge to curl up beside the other guy and keep him close. between the two of them, kyungsoo’s clearly not the one made for protecting people. “when i heard your cry, i thought…”

“yeah,” jongin says. “well, i almost did. die, i mean. but chanyeol came and he slaughtered the demon before it could strike me with its final blow. i’ve been in and out of consciousness for days, and chanyeol said i came so close to drifting away. but i managed to find my way back.” he turns in kyungsoo’s direction, but for some reason he doesn’t look him in the eye. “chanyeol never mentioned you throughout the time i was recuperating, so i worried that you hadn’t made it.”

“i did,” kyungsoo says, glad that jongin’s nowhere near enough to hear his heartbeat. he wishes jongin would look at him, would smile, would laugh, because right now it feels so awkward between the two of them and he’s not sure why. “somehow. thanks to you.”

jongin brushes it off. “i did nothing,” he says, and kyungsoo must be imagining it, but he sounds bitter. “i failed to do so many things. but that is beyond us now. you are safe, and chanyeol has told me that you can go home and live your life demon-free.”

“don’t say that,” kyungsoo says. “you sacrificed your life several times. you put up with me throughout our journey. you kept me safe.”

“and then i led you to a trap,” jongin says wryly. he holds up a hand when he sees kyungsoo about to protest. “don’t. it won’t change anything. and it’s no good to dwell in it, when we’re here now and still very much alive.”

“speaking of here... what is this place?” kyungsoo asks, glancing around the room. the open window looks out into miles and miles of water, something that kyungsoo’s never seen before in his life, and the sun is shining so much that the world is awash with light.

“the hidden land,” jongin says. he catches kyungsoo’s exasperated gaze and cracks a small smile. “it’s still part of the world we know, but it is home to many of the myths and legends you’ve probably heard most of your life. there are creatures that live here in peace -- if you’re lucky, chanyeol might introduce you to some of them. the inhabitants of this place drew a veil between them and the rest of the world, because they no longer desired to interact with phantoms and humans. chanyeol acts as the guide to this place.”

kyungsoo takes this all in, aware that his eyes are growing wider with every word. “so are you telling me that creatures like fairies are real?”

“of course they are,” jongin exclaims. “i thought you would have already gleaned that from the fact that for the past month and a half, you’ve been running away from demons with a demon hunter!”

“the demon hunter and i only ever talked about demons,” kyungsoo returns. he bites his lip and waves a hand over jongin’s bandaged arm. “so what happens to us now?”

he sees a flash of an emotion cross jongin's face, but in the next instant, his face is impassive. “well, you’re going home,” he says, “and i obviously can’t be a demon hunter anymore.”

“what…” kyungsoo hesitates. “what are you going to do? are you going back to your community?”

jongin doesn’t reply. he returns his gaze to the open window, and kyungsoo stares at the line of his jaw, clenching his fists. only the foolish fall in love with people who wander. only the naive entrust their hearts to those who do not return their feelings. kyungsoo’s told himself to keep the shards together, keep this _something_ to himself, but the way the distance stretches out between him and jongin is frustrating him.

he cannot let it end here. he cannot bury jongin somewhere in his memory; he cannot box up this love and throw it out into the waters, let it sink to the bottom where it will never be found. after this, jongin will walk away, like he’s used to doing; and kyungsoo will go home, where he will fill up ledgers and shovel the snow and grow a patch of rosemary in the garden, a silver dagger at his waist.

“jongin.”

the hunter turns to him, eyes questioning. kyungsoo takes a deep breath.

“i know i was a task to accomplish,” he begins, fixing his gaze on jongin’s hand so that he doesn’t have to deal with jongin’s expression when he finally says it. “i know i was nothing more than another mission assigned to you that you could not refuse. i know how well-versed you are in sweeping away the pieces of those you leave behind, so i won’t be surprised if you forget me right away.”

“kyungsoo --”

“but i’m not used to that, jongin,” kyungsoo interrupts, his fingers digging his sorrow into his palms, so that jongin’s last sight of him won’t be of him crying. “i do not know how to let go of those who leave. i do not know how to let the dust gather in deserted houses; i do not know how to not come round every day and knock on locked doors.” _inhale_ , he reminds himself. “when i heard your cry,” he continues, his voice softer now, “i wanted so much to die. i wanted to give up, because everything that had mattered to me was lost.”

“what... what are you…”

kyungsoo raises his face. he looks straight into jongin’s eyes, lets the words fall from his lips. “i know you won’t return my feelings. probably you’re just glad that your entire task wasn’t a failure. but it’s different for me, jongin. it’s been different since the day you let yourself open up to me, even for just a bit.” _exhale_. “when i jumped off the edge of the cliff, i was sure only of one thing: that i did not know how to bury you, jongin. and i still don’t.” he can feel his chest constrict, a tear making its way down his cheek. he’s cried so much today, but this, kyungsoo thinks, will be the last time.

“it is impossible to bury someone you love, who will never be yours.”

he shoots up from the bed, aware that the tears won’t be stopping anytime soon, unable to let himself see the expression in jongin’s eyes. he doesn’t want to face him -- he doesn’t want to bury his memory, pile his future on top of it and let time erase the rest.

a hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him down, and kyungsoo finds his face just mere inches away from jongin’s.

“interesting,” jongin says. kyungsoo searches for a hint of mockery or sarcasm, but he finds nothing. instead he finds something like relief on jongin's features, and a soft smile turns up the corners of his lips. “it looks like we’re on the same boat, then, kyungsoo.”

“we -- we are?” kyungsoo stutters, confused.

“you know, moments ago when you ran toward me, i was so sure you felt the same way i did. but then you stopped, and i thought i’d been imagining things.” he searches kyungsoo’s face with his eyes. “last night, i’d convinced myself to leave this land forever, because though there was one thing i wanted to hold close, something i wanted to stay for, i was sure that that something didn’t quite think the same way. i told myself i was better off disappearing into the distance and becoming some sort of legend.”

“i’m not quite following you,” kyungsoo says, though the fluttering in his chest feels horribly like hope.

“are you?” jongin chuckles. “well, kyungsoo, what i’m trying to say is that i do not know how to walk away. i do not know how to live with only myself, when there was someone i knew i wanted to live with for the rest of my life if only he’d have me.” he pauses, and a grin spreads through his face as he watches the realization dawn on kyungsoo. “i do not know how to bury you either, kyungsoo, and to be honest, i’d rather not do so.”

 _damn those injuries_ , kyungsoo thinks. he flings himself into jongin’s arms and covers his smile with his own -- because what won’t be buried will rise, day after day after day, and if he can spend the remaining sunsets of his life with no demons and plenty of jongin, he’s satisfied. and from the laughter that escapes jongin’s lips, the hunter is thinking the same thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
